What about me... What about VanHalen?

[@xL]

:: Wednesday, March 7th, 2007 - 7:00 p.m.::

~ Location: Thumb Breakers - Casino and Chapel ~

[We open an hour after both Dr. Plants and Pigeon have gone. The camera suddenly pans above the scene, to spot a jet flying into the shot. The jet is painted hot pink, with the words "Air Axl" along the side in black. The jet finally settles right smack dab in the middle of the road, as THE BOOKIE looks at the aircraft with an arched 'brow. The passenger side door swings open, and Tifa BonJovi steps out in a pair of tight jeans and a black tube-top, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. The driver's side door flies open, and out comes the man himself, the NEXT Swiss Army Champ; Axl VanHalen.]

Axl: Tifa, that was a nice little trip. I hope the deal goes through.

Tifa: I hope too... the way you kept looking at that executive, I'm not quite sure if they'll want to do business with you...

Axl: What in the world is that supposed to mean?

Tifa: Well, you sorta looked at him like... well... how should I put this. Like you wanted to shove your-

Axl: Hand in his, and commence with a handshake, solidifying the deal? Yeah, but you gotta let these things play themselves out.

Tifa: ... No. More like... like you wanted to kiss his-

Axl: Baby? Nah, I'm no politician. And besides... he didn't have a baby available.

Tifa: Dammit Axl, you looked at him like you wanted to suck-

Axl: - Up to him? Dude, I already SAID I'm not a politician. I fight the power, man, I'm so totally against all that corporate jazz. Except when it makes me money. Or sex. Or both.

Tifa: ... Axl. Listen to me. For once in your life. You looked at the man like a flaming-

Axl: Chipmunk?! Now come on Tifa, that doesn't even make SENSE!

Tifa: Axl, you looked at the guy like you were gay! GAY, do ya hear me, GAY GAY GAY GAY G-

Axl: *gasp* TIFA! I'm shocked at you! After all these accusations being tossed at me by nearly everyone, you'd be the LAST one I'd think that would go after me with such... such... RUMORS! You know that I'm as manly as they come! I'm METAL for cripes sake!

Tifa: Ch-yeah, HAIR Metal...

Axl: And what in the hell is that supposed to mean? What's wrong with Hair Metal?! It's the most METAL of ALL Metal!

Tifa: Yeah, if you were a 16 year old girl back in the 80's. But Axl, this ISN'T the 80's, and you're not a girl... well, atleast I don't think you are...

Axl: TIFA!!! What makes you think of such things? When have I ever given the impression that I'm... gay???

Tifa: You did kiss both Sgt. Genocide AND Uber Vamp. On the lips. WITH tounge.

Axl: It's my finisher! It's just like the mandible claw, except... well... I use my tounge. It's very effective.

Tifa: At what, making you splooge? Oh look, there's a wedding chapel, why don't you go marry the next guy that walks by?

Axl: SHUT UP! Ya know what though, I do think I'll go place a bet. I'm going to bet that Mr. Paradox beats Axl VanHalen.

Tifa: ... What? Huh, wait, AXL! Come back here! You DO understand YOU'RE Axl VanHalen, right? Axl... Dammit.

[Axl skips... yes, skips... over to THE BOOKIE, just as a man is walking out carrying a mule by a leash. Tifa follows, as Axl turns around, watching the man and mule walking off.]

Axl: *whistles* MAN, that guy's got a cute ass.

Tifa: ... Uhm... yeah... Anyway, as I was trying to say, YOU'RE Axl VanHalen. So I would advise on betting for... well... yourself. Unless, of course, you'd rather win the bet, I guess you could with Paradox...

Axl: Hey, I'm the Metal GOD, the leader of the Rock-O-Lution, and I'll bet on whoever I damn well please! Now, Bookie, dude, one bet for Dr. Thrilla.

Tifa: ... You mean Mr. Paradox?

Axl: Oh, yeah, duh. Sorry, I always confuse those who are beneath my utter superiority.

Tifa: Uhm, yeah... right. *rolls eyes*

Axl: Now, Bookie, one on Mr. Paradox, if you will.

BOOKIE: Damn, you Bruisers on a Budget guys sure are making the rounds tonight.

Axl: That's BRAWLERS, not Bruisers.

BOOKIE: Whatever. Ok, I'll place the bet, but, uh, what's your name?

Axl: Why, don't you remember me? I came here just one hour ago and placed a bet. But, after finding out that Dr. Thrilla was out, and Mr. Paradox was in, I just HAD to come back and correct that slight error.

BOOKIE: Ohhh, Sillicone Implants, how could I forget your face. ... Ok, yeah, I did, but don't worry, you're not the first, and you won't be the last. Now, how much would that bet be for?

Axl: Oh, I don't know... how about let's make it a cool three billion? I couldn't POSSIBLY lose a bet like THAT!

BOOKIE: Er... ok. I hope you make a good amount of money working for Bob, or whoever he is...

Axl: Oh, don't worry. I don't. Come along Tifa, let's head over to the Riviera for some hot poker action!

[Axl and Tifa head over to the building, but as they do, they pass by a homeless man on the street, holding a cardboard sign saying "What About Me? What About A Couple Bucks for an Ex-Gambler?". Axl smiles and tells Tifa to head inside. Axl walks up to the raggedy-looking man.]

Axl: Let me guess. You blew all your money on the slots?

Drunk: No sir. Once... I was a champion. I was the most evil, yet charming, debonair b@stard in all of professional wrestling. I was... the Angel of Death Most Exalted. And then... I was gone. Gone, just as many others in my company have gone. Brawlers on a Budget. The place where I held TWO World Titles. But the thing is... it just didn't pay that well. And when my run finally came to an end, I had no choice but turn to the streets for food. I ask of you... may I have just a few spare pennies, so I may buy something to eat?

Axl: Hmm... Brawlers on a Budget. And your name is?

Drunk: Fiendish. Bobo Q. Fiendish.

Axl: Hm. Bobo... arise. Arise, and take my hand. And I shall give you anything you desire.

[Bobo stands from the concrete ground, and nervously extends a hand... Axl takes the hand, and gently places his other palm over the hand, cusping it between the two of Axl's. Axl bows his head... And begins giggling... before chuckling... before starting to laugh the most demonic laugh ever heard.]

BQF: Uhm... sir... what... EXACTLY are you doing?

[Axl suddenly snaps his head up, a sinister smirk across his face, as his eyes glare toward his victim.]

Axl: Welcome to the Jungle... b!tch.

[Axl reels Bobo in, before locking lips with the BoB legend. He tries desperately to break free, but his struggles are all for not, as Axl has his lips clenched tight on Bobo. Bobo shoves at Axl's chest... kicks and screams... but it does him no good. Finally, Axl is able to bring Bobo to the cement, draping his hair over the former BoB Star. Axl brushes his fingers through the hair of Bobo, all the while Fiendish's skin grows paler and paler with each passing second.]

[Bobo's fingers twitch... his heart rate increases... before... He finally gives out. His heart stops, and all movement ceases. Axl lifts his head, and whipes away the saliva from his mouth... Before hocking up some of his own, and spitting a giant wad right in the face of the corpse... eyes rolled into the back of its skull. Axl gets up to one knee, before standing tall over his victim... deceased... dead... and ridden of life. Axl smiles. ...]

[Before heading into the Riviera.]

[Axl - 2 / Legends - 0]

~ rock on ~

\oo/_ OvO _\oo/

~ rock on

[SMP]

[The next day, Dr. Silaconne M. Plants enters "Thumb Breakers" carrying a portable DVD player. "THE BOOKIE" seems perplexed, as perplexed as a scruffy, pony-tailed BOOKIE could possibly be.

Actually, I could be confusing perplexed with boredom. You'd think the newest BOB sensation would be a little more full of life considering he's been featured in more RP's than even BOB LEGEND CHAMPION douja has the past two days. THE BOOKIE has just finished plugging in a neon sign that reads "MICHAEL JORDAN AND CHARLES BARKLEY BET HERE!"

Then he spots Plants...]

BOOKIE: Hold up there, slick. You're not going to place a wager and offer to pay me with shit, are you?

SMP: Huh?

BOOKIE: Oh nothing. You know, it was a very weird day yesterday.

SMP: Listen, I don't have time for idle chat. I've got something to show you.

[Dr. Plants produces a picture of David Bowie, as he appeared in "Labyrinth", pretty close to an exact duplicate pose that is featured as the tag on every single Axl Van Halen vignette.]

SMP: Did this gonad come in here last night and say he was Silaconne M. Plants?

BOOKIE: Yeah, sure did. I thought it was strange that two people would come in here and say that. One guy. One chick.

SMP: That's a guy...

BOOKIE: Ri-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ght.

SMP: It seems he tried to pose as me, and screw around with my bet for Living in Sin.

BOOKIE: Oh that? Don't worry, I didn't take him seriously. I mean really... who makes a bet and puts down three billion? What does he think I am? A loan shark? *pffffft* I'm a professional.

Besides, all bets are final. He couldn't change it if he wanted to. YOU couldn't change it if you wanted to. You signed forms, remember?

SMP: Really? I beg to differ. It seems I've placed a gamble on a wrestler to win a contest he's not even competing in, and in Nevada By-Law 17/136 section B... it states that a wager is not valid if said contest that a wager is placed upon does not exist.

BOOKIE: It took you all day to look that up, didn't it?

SMP: Most of it. So, can I have my money back?

BOOKIE: Nope. I said all bets are final.

SMP: But I just said that bet wasn't valid.

BOOKIE: But I already have your money.

SMP: Well, can I just shuffle it to a new bet?

BOOKIE: I suppose. What's it going to be this time? A bald Texan gives both Vinny Mac and The Donald a STONECUTTER and shaves 'em both?

SMP: HEY! How do you know about a STONECUTTER?

BOOKIE: I had this guy that did a little collecting for me some time back. Walked around drinking Yoo-Hoo all the time and had this shirt that read, "Arrive. STONECUTTER! Leave." Did a good job...

SMP: You don't say...

BOOKIE: Yep. Had a hot sister, too.

SMP: I know. She was in love with me.

BOOKIE: Sure, man. So, what's that new bet going to be?

SMP: I'll write it on a piece of paper.

*he does and slides it to THE BOOKIE*

BOOKIE: I can do that, but why did you write it instead of just telling me?

SMP: And RUIN a perfectly good storyline?

BOOKIE: Whatever. Say... what's with that DVD player?

SMP: Oh yeah, I downloaded this off my computer and burned it to DVD. Take a look...

*he hits play*

Axl: Let me guess. You blew all your money on the slots?

Drunk: No sir. Once... I was a champion. I was the most evil, yet charming, debonair bastard in all of professional wrestling. I was... the Angel of Death Most Exalted. And then... I was gone. Gone, just as many others in my company have gone. Brawlers on a Budget. The place where I held TWO World Titles. But the thing is... it just didn't pay that well. And when my run finally came to an end, I had no choice but turn to the streets for food. I ask of you... may I have just a few spare pennies, so I may buy something to eat?

*hits pause*

BOOKIE: Hey, that's the freak that was in here last night. I've forgotten some faces in my day, but not THAT one. What a fag.

SMP: I know, right? Who's the bum?

BOOKIE: Oh him? That's Craig. He's just a transient that has this bizarre fetish where he wanders around telling everybody he's some dude named Bobo Q. Fiendish. Then he begs for coins and food and shit. I've called the law on him about 27 times. He's nasty!

He's got gonorreha, rabies, dick warts, scurvy, lip herpes, HIV, rickets, scrotum droop, drippy wiener, acne, syphilis, parvo, hershey squirts, head lice, crotch rot, measles, typhoid, raw butthole syndrome, pinkeye, earwax, halitosis, dandruff....

SMP: My God!

BOOKIE: That's only about a quarter of what he's got! It's a wonder he's still alive.
Just avoid him if you see him... everything he's got, you can catch. But only if you kiss him on the mouth.

SMP: BWAAAA HAAAA HAAAAAA! Thanks for the tip...

[Plants turns towards the camera.]

SMP: Legends shoots. LEGENDS SCORE!

And the crowd goes wild.....

[CircularAnswer]

*As it happens, Mr. Paradox is in Vegas as well... Why, nobody can say. Probably just had some spare money and access to the boss's teleporter again. He stops next to an alleyway and stretches his leg against a wall.*

Mr. Paradox: Freakin' boots. I've worn these since I joined BOB, why are they so freakin' heavy?

*A drunk walks up to him, babbling.*

Drunk: Once... I was a champion. I was the most evil, yet charming, debonair bastard in all of professional wrestling. I was...

*Before he can finish that, Mr. Paradox draws his sword and cleaves the man's head down the middle. He twitches once, and then falls to the ground. Taking a Kleenex from his pocket, Paradox wipes the blade off.*

Mr. Paradox: Eegh. Drunkard brains. It's like slicing into wet kibble.

*Fade out.*